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Robby
Robby tugged at his shirtsleeves on the sidewalk outside of the Q-Center. Between what happened with Matt and what he had planned for today, he shifted from euphoria to anxiety and back again.
Those kisses. Goodness gracious.
Matt’s inexperience may have been obvious, but what he lacked in technique, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. The man kissed with abandon, like he’d just discovered the secrets of the universe and he thought he could unleash them with his tongue.
He might have been right.
You’d think months of fantasizing about kissing Matt combined with the two kisses they’d shared before would have prepared him for a no-holds-barred make-out session. And maybe they did, a little. But it was different when he knew it was what they both wanted. His body certainly knew where it wanted to go and how to get there. No hesitation, just a descent into a haze of lust fueled by taste and touch.
Matt was into it too. His body had responded beautifully and instantly, arching against him, seeking more contact.
The entire encounter was the stuff his dreams were made of…until Matt’s questing fingers in his hair doused the flames like a bucket of water on a campfire. Memories had assailed him, some hazy, some painfully sharp. All from his handful of nights with Harry. None he wanted to examine too closely. He’d left his old life behind a long time ago, and it was better left dead and buried. Hopefully, Matt would never know how low he’d sunk.
He pushed the feelings down.
Paul greeted him with an enthusiastic wave as he crossed the threshold. The man leaned over the big wooden table, surrounded by four guys hunched over, examining something on the surface in front of them.
“Robby. I’m glad you made it. Take a look at the design Brady made for our parade T-shirts.” The reverend swept his hand over the colorful rainbow and dove artwork splashed across poster-boards on the table.
He lifted the one closest to him and examined it. Art had never been his strong suit, but even his untrained eye could see the talent and passion in the bold strokes. “Awesome. Wait…there’s a parade?”
“Not for another six months.” The reverend held up the other two designs, peering closely at one, then the other before setting them back down. “We want to get all of our ducks in a row. Try out the designs on some fundraising sites and fliers. We’re lucky to have such a talented artist in house.”
Even without an introduction, Robby knew who Brady must be when he turned in his direction. The deep flush in the guy’s cheeks gave him away. But it wasn’t until the young man pulled his gaze up to somewhere around Robby’s chest when a zing of recognition hit.
The dead-eyed boy from Nitro. Sucking in a breath, Robby stumbled back a step.
Brady looked up at his face for a split second, but it was enough. His tremulous smile dropped away, and a sound just shy of a whimper escaped his throat. The guys around him zeroed in on Robby, anger and suspicion in their narrowed eyes.
“What’s your deal, man?” The demand sprang from an older teen with blue chin-length hair and two dumbbell piercings in his right eyebrow. The young man stepped toward him and poked him hard in the shoulder. “You here to cause trouble for Brady?”
Robby held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender and canted his voice low. “I’m not here to hurt anybody.”
A second guy, this one with dark brown skin and cornrows, angled himself in front of Brady. “This is a safe space.”
The first guy bared his teeth. “Go back to wherever you came from.”
Robby dropped his hands to his sides. “I came from a nowhere little town that threw me out on my ass when I was sixteen.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” No sympathy from the guy with the braids.
“I saw him with one of the regulars at Nitro,” Brady murmured.
“Get. The fuck. Out.” The pierced guy surged forward, pushing him back with both hands, just as the reverend tried to stop him.
“Marshall—” Too late.
The force almost knocked Robby on his rear. “It was the only time I’ve ever been back there.” He modulated his voice and kept going before Marshall could call him a liar. “But I’ve been to plenty of places like it. You do what you have to when your only other choice is the street.”
Marshall grunted. “So, what’s your story?”
How much could he share? Could he, finally, force some of his old darkness into the light of day? One look at Brady’s bleak expression pushed him to try.
Here goes nothing.
“When I was homeless, for months, I’d use the horny guys I found at the clubs to give me a place to sleep. At least, I could choose my partner when I picked a guy up. I didn’t always have the same luxury at the shelter.”
